


Frodo Bȃhu Khazȃd

by Grumpel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo is So Done, Bree Market, Crying is Cathartic, Family Feels, Fluff, Frodo to the rescue, Gen, No smut just cuddling, Post-Battle of Five Armies, The Shire, Young Frodo Baggins, bahu khazad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumpel/pseuds/Grumpel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo loses his parents at a very young age but has the fortune to be adopted by his highly spirited Uncle Bilbo.</p><p>Raised under loving care at Bag End, the fauntling blossoms into a kind and empathic young hobbit who gets only sad when he witnesses his uncle’s occasional bouts of melancholy. The desire to uncover the reasons for Bilbo’s sadness eventually leads to a story about his uncle’s adventure with Gandalf and a dwarven company - without the unhappy ending, of course (Frodo is only 14, Bilbo will have you know!).</p><p>Frodo wants to know everything about the dwarrows that his uncle traveled with but Bilbo always turns his answers into stories about cranky fire breathing dragons, irrepressible wizards, and the lyrical beauty of Rivendell. What is a fauntling to do when he is convinced that there is only one thing that can make Uncle Bilbo happy again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End of an Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Another story idea that I felt that had no choice but to write after reading so many great stories in the hobbit fanfiction world. I do not recall reading works with this setup / scenario so I hope it is unique but if there are any similar stories out there I apologize for missing them and would like to ask you to share them with me.
> 
> I'm pretty sure where this story is going to go and have estimated seven chapters in total for now. The first three chapters will be coming in pretty quick as I have written most of it already (they just need rereading and editing). The remaining chapters' release pace will depend on how much the story will tell me to bugger off and try another way. 
> 
> _Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, locations, conversations, inside jokes, or recipes of Tolkien's universe. Nor do I have the ability to control the weather in this story. And while I am at it, let me admit that it was impossible for me to not think of Elijah Wood as Frodo, Martin Freeman as Bilbo and Ian McKellen as Gandalf, so my apologies if my descriptions go against your impressions of them. Blame Peter Jackson and his merry company on the perfect casting._

Bilbo Baggins never regretted going on an adventure with thirteen dwarrows and one wizard.

He also did not regret that the journey had been littered with dangers and near death experiences, and that blood and dirt had been constant companions of said adventure. Because it had also come with laughter, friendships and memories that would forever warm his heart whenever he found himself feeling a bit lonely back home at Bag End.

No, what had left him with the deepest remorse was the end of the adventure and with it, the finality of the three deaths. Within the privacy of his home he could sometimes admit to himself that there might have been more in the case of one of those friendships: It was a bond that he would have once discarded as “hogwash, a foolish idea made up by lovesick romantic fools” - but that was before he met Thorin and his company.

When Thorin had said his final goodbye to the hobbit, he had come undone. And when he had forced himself to shut down all his feelings so he could endure the pale and lifeless faces of the Durins and pay his respects in that dark funeral cave, Bilbo had lost all curiousity about Erebor: To him, it became “that cursed mountain”, the kingdom that had cruelly snuffed out its most loyal servants.

Bilbo hated that mountain.

In his haste to get as far away as possible from the horrid place he fled at the earliest opportunity, while the last note of the songs for the stone was still lingering.  He still suffered occasional pains from the nasty bump on his head but not enough to keep him from gathering his few items in a small bundle and leaving a short letter for each member of the company in Balin’s capable hands. Then he was ready to set off to Dale for the night, confident that he would find a group of elves traveling back to Mirkwood.

Gandalf needed two days to track down his hobbit friend, and when he finally caught up with him in Thranduil’s kingdom, Bilbo welcomed him with shiny eyes and a glad smile as the grey wizard revealed his intention to accompany his friend all the way back to the Shire. However glad he was to see the wizard again though, he refused to speak about the journey that had passed, only acknowledging that he was looking very much forward to returning to the peacefulness of his hobbit hole.

When they had arrived at Bag End at last, and after Gandalf had stayed several days in his want to reassure himself that Bilbo would be able to settle back into his old life, the wizard attempted one last time to speak to the hobbit about the remaining company and the reactions to their burglar’s sudden departure.

“No, I do not wish to know about that, thank you very much, Gandalf. I thank you for your kindness and bid you safe travels.” And with this, Bilbo firmly shut the door on all the vile aspects of the adventure, including the fact that he could no longer think about anyone in the company without seeing Thorin’s lifeless body and his dulled eyes.


	2. Frodo and Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bilbo met Frodo (yes, cheesy but it's succinct!).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised that it would be a quick update :)
> 
> And I really hadn't planned on making Lobelia the bad gal in this story. Which I think she will not be. At least I hope so.

The first two years after Bilbo’s return to Bag End passed in a blink of an eye.

For the first few months back at the Shire the hobbit slept little and existed mostly in his mind, traveling back to the start of that life-altering day when Gandalf dropped by unannounced. While he reestablished his familiar home routine and set out to make his smial habitable yet again he relived the unexpected arrival of the boisterous gang of dwarrows and his first few weeks on the road when he was still too tethered to his old comfortable life to enjoy the freedom of the unknown. Then he remembered the encounter with the pony-grabbing trolls and the first twinge of excitement when he had managed to save the company from the insides of a massive soup-filled pot. After that he thought back to his first encounter with the orcs and wargs and the escape to the Elven wonder that was Rivendell. Everything that happened in the mission to take back Erebor showed itself to him again during his reveries during the daytime hours and at night in his dreams.

Six months after his return to the Shire a tragic event in his family upended Bilbo’s routine of misery and nudged his life into a new direction: His cousin Drogo Baggins and wife Primula Brandybuck drowned in the springtime white waters of the Brandywine river, and a tiny blue-eyed fauntling at the tender age of 12 was suddenly thrusted into his care by Grandma Baggins. She had left him with little doubt that it would be a permanent and non-negotiable arrangement of mutual benefit. The family bond developed quite naturally over the course of a few days as the Tookish streak in Bilbo recognized the Brandybucks' adventurous spirit in Frodo, and with both family lines rooted by the exceptional kindness and warm hearts found in the hobbits of the Baggins line. And with that, Bilbo’s introverted life suddenly became less about the past and more about letting go and building a future with Frodo.

It took a long time for Frodo to overcome the worst of his sorrows over the passing of his parents. Whereas Bilbo had experienced the pain of losing those who were dear to his heart, he understood that losing one’s parents as a child was immeasurably worse and an act of utmost cruelty that only few could survive without substantial harm to their inner happiness. He himself had lost his parents as a young adult, and so it was with this knowledge that he pledged himself to attend to his nephew’s every emotional wound and try to save him from the worst of the deep soul scars.

Frodo in turn developed a fierce devotion to his uncle that closely resembled the love of a child for his parents. He innately grasped that with every meal, every night time story, and every walk his sole caretaker was making a promise to never leave him lacking in love, comfort or happiness.

As Frodo got bigger and more interested in the world around him, it was only natural that he in turn felt a duty to ensure the happiness of his loved ones, and Bilbo’s happiness in particular. The fauntling had noticed that there were times - usually in the evenings by the fire, when Bilbo was reading him from a book of adventures - when there were moments in which his uncle would stare off into the distance with a small sad smile. And once the fauntling caught his uncle surreptitiously wiping away wetness that accumulated in the corners of his eyes.

However, whenever the little hobbit attempted to broach the topic, Bilbo was already into the next moment, smiling and distracting him with a tasty treat or an exciting story. It was not until a morning at the market when Frodo would get a deeper glimpse into the reasons for his uncle’s sadness.

\---

“I cannot believe that Bilbo is still raising the little Baggins boy. I was sure that by now Grandma Baggins would have placed him under the care of a more responsible family member. Otho and I have offered to give him a proper home and raise him like our own countless times but apparently common hobbit sense is not considered necessary for this task.” Lobelia’s shrill voice was hard to miss in the crowd.

Bilbo’s hand was wrapped around his nephew’s small fist, and it tensed up for a brief moment before Frodo heard his uncle exhale slowly and felt a steady pull away from the bakery stand and the rest of the gossip. They halted at the other side of the market, and Bilbo stooped down to fuss with his charge's wind-blown tresses when Frodo blurted out, “Why is Aunt Lobelia saying that, uncle? I like living with you.”

Bilbo sighed. “Well, my dear boy, you know your aunt well enough by now to not be shocked to hear that she likes to make her opinions known to everyone in the Shire. Many others would not be as outspoken as her but I know that there are many who think that I am no longer a respectable hobbit ever since I went on that adventure to Erebor.”

“Erebor? That was YOU in those stories, uncle? You traveled with a gang of dwarrows? You met the wood elf king? You faced Smaug, the fire breathing dragon?”

Frodo’s dropped jaw and stunned eyes almost caused Bilbo to laugh out loud but he managed to restrain it into a gentle-mannered smile and nodded.

“Wow! My uncle fought a dragon. That is so cool!” Frodo shouted in his excitement, causing many heads to turn and a few more to shake their heads in irritation. His aunt glared at them from across the marketplace and Bilbo quickly ushered his nephew away from the rest of the hobbits to the path that led back to their home.

Frodo skipped alongside Bilbo as they walked. “You are friends with wizards and dwarrows! And you met a bear man! And saw storm giants fighting! And stabbed a warg! And ... “

Bilbo placed a soft finger on the babbling hobbitling’s mouth. “Hush, please. No one here wants to hear about dangerous adventuring or monsters.” He smiled despite knowing that there would be much talk about ‘Mad Baggins’ that day and perhaps for the rest of the week.

There were only a few more steps until they reached the Hill but Bilbo grasped his nephew’s shoulders and knelt in front of him so he could look him in the eye before saying, “My dear, dear Frodo. While I am glad that my esteem seems to have risen in your eyes, I should impress on you the importance of keeping this discovery to yourself.” He paused and continued in a quieter voice, “You know that we hobbits value comfort and respectability above all. So you will certainly understand that the less our neighbours know of my past reckless actions and that sort, the less concern there will be about my lack of propriety or ability to raise a young hobbit.  You wouldn’t want me to lose you because of my adventuring deeds, do you?”

Frodo pouted but shook his head gravely after a few seconds. “No, uncle.”

“Then let you and I agree: What’s out is out. I do not feel the need to hide it for I am not ashamed of what I did in my past. But for our peace’s sake in the Shire please mind your knowledge in public. Yes?”

His nephew nodded.

“That’s a smart boy. I love you very much, Frodo.”

“I love you too, Uncle Bilbo.”

They hugged.

\---

It was only a few days later after dinner in the living room when the topic was picked up again. Bilbo sat in his well-worn armchair and had just opened their favourite storybook when Frodo, who was lying on the rug in front of the chair, looked up from his contemplation.

“Uncle Bilbo?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything in the story true?”

“Yes, Frodo.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Frodo.”

“Were the dwarrows really as funny and friendly as you wrote in the story?”

“Oh, you bet! If it had not been for their warm friendships, loyalty and general merriment, I would have never survived the journey.”

“Uncle Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“Why have they never come and visited?”

Bilbo sputtered. “What do you mean?”

“Well... Gandalf has stayed with us, and he was really nice, even to me. I thought ... if dwarrows are as nice as you say, why have they not come to Bag End to see you?”

“Oh.” Bilbo tried to come up with a way to explain his relationship to Thorin’s company. His written story had omitted the gold sickness, the Arkenstone, and the deaths of Thorin, Fili and Kili since he thought that a children’s story should never make anyone more sad than happy. Instead, he left his story open-ended, closing it with the evil monsters defeated, the kingdom reclaimed, and the wayward hobbit traveller returned to his cozy smial and the comforts of seven meals a day.

“Are you sad because there are no dwarrows in the Shire? Do you miss them? Do you think they miss you? Do you write to each other? Would you be happier if we wrote them and asked them to come for a visit? Maybe they can come for our harvest fest?”

“Frodo, whatever makes you ever think that I am sad? I am very happy living here with you.” Bilbo pulled Frodo into his lap and hugged him close.

“As for my dwarven friends, sure, I miss them but Erebor is so many months of travel away from the Shire, and what with the rebuilding of the kingdom and the city of men, I’m sure everyone is far too busy to spare even a day to fritter away. Rest assured though, they are all still very dear to me, and I am sure that they still think of me fondly as well.”

Bilbo buried his face in Frodo’s hair to calm himself so he could push back the bad memories. He did not have the heart to tell the fauntling that a few of his friends had come by Bag End just a month before his nephew had moved in with him, only to have him pretend that he was not home.

Lost in his own deep thoughts he therefore did not see the unconvinced scrunch in Frodo’s face that was soon replaced with the glimmer of an idea sparked in the little hobbit’s bright and eager eyes.

“Now Frodo, it’s past your bedtime already, let’s finish our cocoas and get you to bed, alright?”

“Ok, Uncle Bilbo.”


	3. Frodo has a Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the title says it all. Squee!

Once Frodo decided on something it was almost impossible to tear him away from it.

Even though he was still a hobbit child he felt responsible for Bag End and his uncle. So when he saw a chance to make his home and his favourite person in the whole wild Shire a little merrier he doggedly set to the task of convincing Bilbo to bring him along to the monthly shopping trips to Bree.

Bilbo did not stand a chance.

“Frodo! Are you coming or not?” Bilbo was behind the front door tapping his foot. He had just finished putting a jacket on the fauntling, and he now suddenly held his nephew’s little scarf and mittens without a purpose:  Somehow Frodo had managed to disappear within the few seconds that had taken him to rummage through the chest that held all their outdoor accessories.

“I am coming! Don’t leave without me!!” A slightly panicked voice came out of Frodo’s room, and within a moment the dark-haired hobbitling re-appeared by the entrance, breathless but grinning from ear to ear.

“Hm, what is so important that you had to run back to your room?”

“I almost forgot my coin purse!” Frodo held up a little felt pouch by its strings and shook it vigorously to show that it contained a few coins, and Bilbo smiled because he was the one who had put them in there just this morning.

“Are we ready then, Frodo?”

“Yes uncle.”

“Let’s go.”

“Yay!”

Bilbo just barely managed to wrap the scarf around Frodo’s neck before the boy took off, running down the steps to the gate where he started to fiddle with the latch.

“Will you slow down, little rascal?” laughed Bilbo.

The Bree market looked unlike anything Frodo had seen before. He reckoned that it was like the one in Hobbiton, just a little larger, but he was sorely off the target: There were close to fifty wooden vendor stalls, all decorated with colourful banners and signs, many of them selling wares that he did not know even existed. The stalls were surrounded by several sections that were reserved for specific purposes, such as one for livestock where farm animals were shown for sale and trading, and one where news and gossip were delivered by courtly looking men dressed in velvet capes to any market goers who were willing to part with a silver penny. The most popular section was filled with long picnic tables and benches, inviting tired shoppers to sit down for drinks and snacks. In the middle of the market a group of musicians played energetic tunes on a wooden stage, cheered on by the young lasses and lads who hopped and skipped along with the rhythms.

Before they had entered the market Bilbo made Frodo promise to keep close and not wander off since the older hobbit could not hold his nephew’s hand once he started to haggle with the vendors and collected the purchased goods in his baskets. For all his energy and enthusiasm Frodo was quite an earnest young hobbit, and Bilbo knew that once his nephew made a promise, almost nothing would deter him from keeping that promise, come hell or high water. So it was for the first hour that Bilbo went here and there in the busy market, eyeing a large variety of products and chatting with the vendors, all the while with Frodo trotting behind him like a little duckling following his mother.

It was at the meat pie stand where Bilbo felt several tugs at his waistcoat. When he looked down Frodo’s eyes stared imploringly into his.

“Yes Frodo?”

His nephew pointed to a stand that was a few stalls down from where they stood. “There is a toy maker right there - can I go and look at his toys, please?”

“May I, Frodo.”

“May I go to the toy maker’s stand, pleeease?”

Bilbo sighed. “Alright, but only because you have been such a good little hobbit and because it will still take me some time to negotiate a good deal for the pies here. Wait...“ He held onto Frodo’s jacket sleeves before his nephew could run off and straightened the collar with an indulgent smile  “You are not to go anywhere else and wait for me there. Ok? Promise me.”

“I promise, uncle, I promise!”

“Ok then, off you go.” Bilbo patted the fauntling’s head with affection and watched him make a beeline to the toymaker before he turned back to the pies.

It took a good quarter of an hour of haggling before he and the vendor settled on a mutually satisfying price for a dozen savoury pies. Bilbo looked forward to his first bite of the warmed up mushroom and pork pie at supper and thought of the lovely bottle of red in his cellar that would go perfectly with the dish.

As he was about to turn away from the stand someone behind him cleared his throat pointedly.

“Excuse me.  Are you Beelbow Boggins?”

“Baggins.” Bilbo automatically corrected.

“Beelbow Baggins?”

“And it’s Bilbo.”

“Bilbo Beelbow Baggins?”

“Bilbo Baggins.”

“Ah. My sincerest apologies, Master Baggins.” There was a deep bow followed by, “Garin son of Garnet, at your service.”

“And at yours.” Bilbo replied with furrowed brows.  “May I help you?”

“Oh no, thank you. I wish to carry your bags though.”

“Pardon me?” The hobbit took a closer look at the dwarrow before him. He was a polite-looking fellow with dark blond hair that was braided at the nape of his neck and a beard that was still growing in, thicker in some areas while sparser in others. He noted with interest the charming dimples on this particular dwarven specimen.

The dwarrow patiently repeated his request. “May I carry your bags of groceries?”

 _Now what kind of weak impression must I be making on this dwarrow?_ Bilbo snorted. “Well, you may certainly not! I am perfectly fine carrying my own purchases, thank you very much.”

“Why ...  I was told you needed some help.” Garin stammered with a slight confusion. “You see, a wee hobbitling...”

“That’s my - what did you ... what did he tell you?” Bilbo cast his glances around, now alarmed.

“He ....” Garin suddenly seemed very interested in the ground in front of him.

“Uncle Bilbo, I am back!” Frodo had miraculously appeared by his side, blinking innocently at the two.

“What’s the meaning of this, Frodo? What did say to this gentledwarrow?”

“Hi Garin!” The fauntling flashed a smile at the dwarrow, then addressed his uncle. “His name is Garin, uncle. He was looking for someone who could show him around, so I told him that you knew all the important spots in town but that he would have to carry your groceries if he wanted you to walk around with him.”

“Frodo!” Bilbo exclaimed and was just about to lecture him about talking to strangers when he saw that his nephew wore an expectant smile and cast his glances eagerly between the two adults. He had an inkling that his boy would be crushed if he reacted with irritation and rejected the dwarrow’s request. He reached into his bag and took out a few coins that he pressed into Frodo’s hands.

“Oh dear, I forgot to get a bouquet for our living room. Would you be so kind and pick a bunch for me? You can ask the florist to help you put it together.”

“Sure thing!” Frodo took the coins and dashed off, ecstatic to have been entrusted with one of the Bag End shopping tasks.

Bilbo waited for his nephew to be out of ear’s range then focused his attention back to the young dwarrow who still stood in front of him, shuffling his feet.

“So. I gather that my boy must have promised you something in return for approaching me, right?” He folded his arms and adopted his disapproving parent glare. “Out with it, please.”

The dwarrow blushed. “I ... well ... he slipped a silver penny into my hand and asked so nicely, I couldn’t say no.” He scrambled to pull the coin out of his pocket and offered it to Bilbo. “I didn’t want to take it from him but he was so insistent.  You should give it back to him.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo took the coin and tucked it into his coat pocket. He sighed then smiled apologetically. “I am sorry he has bothered you. He is a sweet little guy and wanted to help me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I am glad he asked me and not a cranky dwarrow who would have just yelled at him to go away.”

“Are you really new in town?”

“No.” The dwarrow blushed again. “I have actually been here for a while but ... your nephew has very beseeching eyes, you know? And when I hesitated he looked like he was going to start crying, and what in Mahal’s name would I do then?”

Bilbo chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, I understand how you must have felt - that boy does not take no for an answer. I hope you will not think too much about this little incident.” His eyes sought the dark-haired hobbitling in the crowd. “Once Frodo is back, perhaps you won’t mind if we buy you an ale for the inconvenience?”

“Oh.” Garin brightened considerably. “I will be glad to take you up on that offer.”

“Splendid!”

\---

On their way home Bilbo attempted to have a chat with his nephew.

Frodo had returned from the vendor, proudly holding a huge colourful selection of fresh field flowers. Bilbo did not have the heart to take his little family member to task for what he did. There was something oddly touching about this entire encounter, and seeing Frodo’s pleased little face for the entire walk back to Bag End gave him enough reason to forgo an interrogation.

“Frodo, did you enjoy our trip to Bree?”

“It was awesome, uncle!”

“What did you like the most?”

Frodo did not hesitate for a second with his response. “Meeting my first dwarf. You are right, they are the nicest!” And as a side note he added, “and you were happy to meet him too, right?”

“Sure, Frodo. Err ...” He answered distractedly as he remembered to pull Frodo’s coin out of his pocket and held it up to Frodo’s face, “is there a reason why you gave Garin a silver penny?”

“Oh!” Frodo clapped his hands over his mouth. “You were not supposed to find out.”

“Is there something that you should tell me?” Bilbo tried to keep the tone of his voice casual.

“It’s just that ... I saw Garin and talked to him, and then I wanted him to talk to you but he looked like he was on his way to go so I promised him a penny if he went over to help you with your bags.”

“Frodo!”

“Sorry uncle.” The fauntling was contrite.

Bilbo stooped down and propped Frodo’s chin up with his hand so he could look him in his eyes. “My boy, I don’t understand - why did you want me to talk to a dwarrow?”

“Because... you miss your friends! I thought maybe another dwarrow would make you happy again.”

“Oh dear.” Bilbo laughed out loud, causing a frown on his nephew’s forehead. After the older hobbit regained control over his amusement he schooled his face into a more serious expression.

“Frodo. I am not sure how I feel about all that is going on in your cute little head. But I think you should know that dwarrows are not a source of my happiness. I have to even admit that I am not that familiar with dwarrows in general: All my dwarven friends are members of the Longbeard clan.”

“Oh.” The hobbitling peered at his uncle timidly. “I don’t know if Garin is a Longbeard. But I’m glad we met him.”

Bilbo sighed. “Yes, he seemed like a lovely young lad. But I have a young hobbit right here who I think is a million times nicer.”

Frodo giggled. “I think we had very nice day.”

“We sure did, my boy.”

And with this, Bilbo put the events of the day behind him.

Little did he know that this was only the beginning.


	4. A Routine is Established

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may not be a typical hobbit routine but it's a routine nonetheless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, bad news time...
> 
> The good news is that there are now 8 chapters - this chapter ended up with over 4,000 words in the first draft, and since there was a natural break in the story the other good news is that have a next chapter ready for review and editing.
> 
> The bad news is that I will be away for the next few days which means that I will not be able to update until next week. 
> 
> However, I am excited that the next two chapters will turn the focus to a couple of familiar Tolkien characters besides Bilbo and Frodo. And no, it's not Gandalf :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your interest in this story!!! Your kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions remind me that I am not just writing this for myself :)

“Frodo!” Bilbo raised his voice in disbelief. “Frodo, come here this instance!”

The hobbit had just finished purchasing a lovely fresh bunch of fragrant garlic scapes and found himself looking into the expectant faces of two burly dwarrows who bowed synchronously and offered the very familiar dwarven greeting to him.

Unfortunately for Bilbo, even though his nephew was one of the most earnest and sincere fauntlings in the shire, he was still smart enough to know when it was best to keep a safe distance from an agitated relative. So it was not unexpected when he spied Frodo half a dozen stalls down from where he had called him, perched atop the edge of a table loaded with baskets of freshly baked pastries that belonged to Mungo Fallohide, Hobbiton’s resident baker. Mungo gave Bilbo a thumbs up and petted Frodo’s unruly mop of hair before offering him a cookie.

Bilbo was fuming but he kept his vexation in check and turned back to the two dwarrows who were still waiting for an acknowledgement from the hobbit.

“Bilbo Baggins, honoured to make your acquaintance. I trust that someone sent you to speak with me?”

“Aye, it was a wee big-eyed hobbit babe, yay tall,” the slightly shorter dwarrow used his hand to demonstrate Frodo’s height, “and he approached us by the music to ask if we were Longbeard dwarrows. He never told us his name but based on your exclamation just a minute ago, I gather Frodo is his name?”

“Yes. And you are indeed... Longbeard clansmen?”

The straightened up proudly and spoke in unison: “We most certainly are members of the most prestigious dwarven clan! Your boy told us that you wish to write about the our clan and would like to speak with us for the purpose of...  what did he say, Nerif?”

The other dwarrow answered, “He said ‘research’, Berif. He said that his uncle was keen on doing research.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Bilbo mused for a few seconds, trying to come up with a polite way to let them down. It was his luck that Garin stepped in at that moment to greet him with a bright smile. He happily offered to take his fellow dwarrows to the nearest pub.

“Don’t worry, Master Baggins, I was just on my way to the Prancing Pony, and I think that these two look positively parched.”

“Aye, an ale would be just about the best thing right now. Err, if you don’t mind, Master scholar hobbit, shall we postpone our conversation to another time perhaps?”

“Sure, sure, don’t think anything of it. And Garin, I owe you my thanks. It’s getting late - Frodo and I better make our way back home since we already missed our lunch. Are you staying in Bree for a while longer?”

“No, I will be leaving in the morrow to deliver the trade drafts between Bree’s carpenter’s guild and our toolmaker’s guild in Ered Luin. I expect to return in a month though.”

“Alright Garin. Have a safe journey back, and I hope to run into you again when you return.”

“That would be my wish as well.” The young lad grinned and waved over Bilbo’s head at Frodo who waved back enthusiastically.

After he had taken his leave from the dwarrows, Bilbo marched towards the bakery stall while trying to figure out how to discourage Frodo from this new hobby. He knew that his nephew would be more than upset if he simply forbade him from seeking out more dwarven acquaintances, so he preferred a more gentle approach, or better yet, he hoped that Frodo would eventually lose his interest if he allowed it to be explored thoroughly. For all it was worth, the fauntling at least no longer pestered him for more information about the dwarven company that Bilbo had kept: His nephew’s head was sparked too easily with ideas that were fun for Frodo but usually left Bilbo scrambling to apologize to neighbours and strangers alike. Besides, he feared that Frodo would take it upon himself to write a letter to his friends if he ever got a hold of a name or way to send a communication.

Just as he had done it the previous month Bilbo broached the topic as he and Frodo walked back to Hobbiton.

“Here are the coins that you gave to the two dwarrows today.”

Frodo turned to him, wide-eyed and looking as if he was going to burst into tears when Bilbo added, “Frodo, I think it’s awfully sweet that you want me to find new dwarven friends. However, you must refrain from using bribery. It’s not kind to exploit the weaknesses of those who are unaware of being exploited even if it is for a good cause.”

“But...”

“I am sure we will meet more dwarrows without you having to offer your big eyes and small pouch.  And while I do not mind speaking to strangers, you will have to allow me to find someone to talk to in my own time. Friendships cannot be forced, don’t you agree?”

“But you aren’t! I don’t see you talk to anyone except for the vendors. And then you only talk about the wares, the weather and how much payment you think is fair! How are you going to make any new friends when you never even try!” Frodo’s cheeks had reddened during his fervent speech.

“You do not think that I am trying?”

And when Frodo nodded, Bilbo thought for a moment before he relented, “Listen, you are a good lad, and I know that you want to take care of my happiness. So if I promise you that I will try and talk to more people next time we are in Bree, will you stop trying to lure innocent dwarrows into conversations?”

“Do I... do you want me to stop talking to any strangers in Bree?” Frodo’s lips trembled slightly.

“Well, I do not like it very much but I think if you can promise me that you will no longer try so hard and that you do not wander off too far, I don’t see any harm in you talking to any dwarrows if - and that’s important, Frodo - _if_ they feel inclined to chat with you.” _Certainly less worrisome than talking to some of the Men in Bree_ , Bilbo thought to himself.

“Thank you Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo’s eyes lit up his face, and Bilbo decided then and there that if the little hobbit wanted to indulge in a little obsession with all things dwarven, he would be the last one to punish him for it.

“Frodo?”

“Yes Uncle Bilbo?”

“Ah... I just want to tell you that you are a great boy. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, ok?”

Frodo held onto Bilbo’s hand with a happy smile, basking in the praise from his uncle.

\---

Bilbo did not even for a minute give in to the delusion that Frodo might have stopped his efforts to keep a steady diet of dwarven encounters in their lives. It was therefore of no surprise to him when at their next Bree visit, he heard a voice behind him just as he was in the middle of looking at fabrics for new curtains, his hands tangled up in soft flowy material.

“Master Baggins I presume?”

Bilbo let out a slight self-pitying groan and turned around with a wary expression.

“Yes, yes. Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He was about to jump into an explanation about his nephew forthrightness but fell silent as soon as he took in the sight of the new dwarrow before him.

There was a mass of white hair and a long luxurious beard framing a gently smiling face and twinkling eyes, and although the forehead, nose and chin were altogether quite different, the similarity in appearance was not lost on Bilbo. And when the old dwarrow spoke up again his memory evoked the last time when Balin and he had the peace and leisure to converse over a cup of tea (which was in Lake Town).

The hobbit swallowed - his mind was empty as if a strong gust had blown all the thoughts out of his head.

“Helg, son of Bror, at your service. Are you the uncle of the hobbitling with the brunet curls over there? He is the most remarkable boy." Thankfully, the older dwarrow had the wisdom to chatter away until Bilbo had found enough composure to respond to the kind words.

“I ... thank you.” Bilbo took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Helg. I hope my nephew was not too much of an imposition? He had promised me that he would no longer lure anyone into the company of hobbits. You see, he is quite obsessed with meeting your kind, and I have yet to find a way to encourage him to pick up another past time. However, I did tell him rather sternly that bartering conversations for money was unbecoming of a hobbit, so if he offered you coins, I would like to sincerely apologize for his behaviour and kindly ask you to return them to me.”

“Oh dear,” the old dwarrow looked a little shocked but masked it quickly with another deep bow. “I was just about to speak to you about this - no, not about the money, I would have declined and turned him away immediately - but ... please do not be angry with your nephew. He extended me the kindest gesture I have ever received in this corner of the world. He actually invited me to your home for a warm meal and pleasant company by the fireplace.”

“He what?” Bilbo gaped.

“Of course I would never take such an invitation seriously - after all, this comes from the mouth of a babe - but I wanted to caution you about his innocent demeanour in public and urge you to speak to him about the dangers of engaging so openly with complete strangers.”

What Helg could not realize was that as a hobbit, Bilbo took the promise of a meal very seriously. Even if it was issued by a 'babe'. Uninviting someone from a dinner was not unlike stealing food, and THAT was without doubt one of the most frowned upon and disrespectful behaviours that any hobbit could ever engage in. Bilbo may be considered eccentric by his fellow Hobbitons but no one would ever be able to accuse him of being a discourteous hobbit or an impertinent host, no sir!

So Helg found himself quite literally dragged to Bag End by little hands and furry feet, and once there, plied with the best comfort foods and wine until he was certain that he had died and gone to the Halls. Except for the fact that he awoke to birdsong and sunshine tickling his nose as he sat up from the armchair where Bilbo and Frodo had left him to sleep with a comforter and a stool to prop his feet on.

There was mist in his eyes as the dwarrow plodded into the kitchen and saw Bilbo waiting for him with breakfast and a hot cup of tea, and although Helg parted from them soon after, uncle and nephew were warmed by the heartfelt gratitude and affection for the next few days.

\---

They were in Bree again but this time, whenever Bilbo turned around, no dwarrow stood behind him. Nor were there any dwarrows within a few feet of him or leaning against the stall where he shopped.

Frodo was also nowhere to be seen but that did not surprise him anymore - he expected that his nephew would reappear soon with that familiar innocent look on his face. And sure enough moments later his nephew materialized next to him. This time his cheeks were also flushed.

“Ok Frodo, have you run out of new dwarrows? Are you telling me that we will have to resort to inviting a familiar face instead?”

“Sorry Uncle Bilbo, I couldn’t do it.”

Bilbo blinked. For a second he felt something akin to disappointment - _why would he be disappointed with that?_ He reasoned that his deteriorating mood was probably due to Frodo’s disappointment. Perhaps to cheer him up he would tell him a new variation of his adventure story tonight, one with extra details about his friends and the mischief of the Durin nephews.

Frodo, however, did not look sad in the slightest.

Bilbo had braced himself for an incredibly sad pair of eyes and a few tears but instead he found his nephew grinning like a canary who had escaped the cat, bouncing up and down, barely able to contain his excitement before he finally blurted out: “I couldn’t bring them all over, Uncle Bilbo. I found a whole company of dwarrows, just like yours! They are over there.” With that, he pointed animatedly to the tables where Bilbo could see a rather large group of bearded individuals, all staring in his direction and waving when they noticed him staring back. They lifted their mugs with a loud cheer.

“Wha... oh no.” An ominous thought began to form in Bilbo’s mind.

“I invited them over for a proper gathering, Uncle Bilbo, just like you did before you went on your adventure!”

“Oh Valar help me!” Bilbo groaned. “I just stocked up my cellar and pantries for the winter.”

“Hooray - we won’t run out of food!” Frodo grabbed his uncle’s hand. “Let’s go, they cannot wait to meet you.”

Although Bilbo had all the reasons to be angry at Frodo he did not have it in his heart to dampen the boy’s generous spirit. It had been several months now that his nephew had mentioned the death of his parents, and there was a new happy glow about Frodo. He worried that this state may be too fragile for this world if he did not continue to nurture it.

And even though he was not ready to admit it, it was rather uplifting to have company who neither cared for propriety nor were burdened with life-endangering missions.

So he allowed this to go on, outwardly acting as if he merely tolerated Frodo’s obsession but inwardly he relished that his inner thirst for the strange and unknown had not abated after all.


	5. Naming Frodo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many dwarrows does it take to ... ah well, please read on :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, I'm back! Refreshed and tired at the same time from a ridiculously busy and fun weekend and very keen to continue this story. I've reviewed it only once since the first draft but am happy enough to post it. I seem to always do a bit of tweaking after the first posting anyways, regardless of how many times it gets reviewed and edited. I hope you will enjoy this chapter.

The next time dwarrows came to the Shire was not Frodo’s doing, although Bilbo was more than ready to put a tiny part of the blame on the little fauntling anyways - he had started it, after all.

It was an early fall morning when Bilbo stood in the kitchen and felt the ground rumbling underneath: This was probably how being atop a gently snoring stone giant must feel like. The weather was particularly bad that day - chilly and unfriendly as strong winds chased around angry looking clouds that looked ready to dispense raindrops as frequently as Old Took used to give out advice.

Bilbo peered out of his front window and saw a sky layered with thick billows of grey. Further down and still far away from Bagshot Row, down by the river, he thought he may have spotted a hint of a commotion crawling along the path that led to the centre of Hobbiton. He wasn’t too concerned about getting to the bottom of it since anything worrisome would be dealt with by the patrolling bounders or nearby rangers, and any interesting news would travel swiftly from hobbit hole to hobbit hole. In more extreme situations (such as Fell Winter, when the wolves crossed the frozen lake to attack the inhabitants of the Shire) the Horn of Buckland would sound its deafening alarm.

Frodo was still at the age where sleeping past first breakfast was encouraged. Which meant that he would wake for second breakfast with a raging appetite. Bilbo placed a pot of water to boil on the stove and began to gather the ingredients from the pantry that were needed to make blueberry griddle cakes with farmer’s sausages.  While the butter melted in the pan, he grabbed the last peaches of the season from the kitchen counter - Frodo was particularly partial to eating his griddle cakes with fried peach slices that he doused with a generous helping of homemade syrup.

Humming a song that he had made up on a whim, he quickly mixed the batter, peeled the peaches and rummaged in the cupboards until he found his favourite serving boat that was perfect for syrup pouring. The wind outside Bag End seemed to have picked up from the sounds that were reaching his ears, and he thanked Yavanna that he had no urgent errands that needed to be run. The outside had darkened enough that he needed to light a few lamps. He shivered when he thought of those poor souls who did not have a roof over their heads today.

There was a knock on his door.

“Who on earth would want to be outside in this weather?” Bilbo wondered. Something niggled him in the back of his mind, and whether it was the significant increase of rumbling under his feet or the commotion outside his house that caused it, he did not know. Still, he reduced the heat on his stove and made his way to the entrance, concerned that he may have left the visitor or visitors outside for too long.

The wind took the door right out of his hands and slammed it against the wall as soon as it had a chance.

Bilbo’s face and torso were slapped by something wet and cold, and as his self-preservation instincts kicked in and he retreated, he looked for the cause of the nasty surprise. It turned out to be the ends of a fluttering raincoat that covered a short and stout figure.

“Hurry!” was all that the hobbit would say before he grabbed the nearest arm (or wrist, he could not really tell) and pulled the visitor into the hallway, pushing the door shut with his foot before the wind started blowing in more rain and dirt.

“Why ... Helg!? What are you doing out there in this horrible storm?” 

The white-haired dwarrow was wheezing slightly and pulled out a handkerchief to dry his wet face as best as possible.

“Bilbo, I sincerely apologize for the intrusion but we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle of a situation with this change in the weather. You were the closest acquaintance that I could think of, and although I hate to take advantage of your hospitality I will have to rely on your kindness and ask you for help.”

“A situation? Why of course I will help, Helg! However I can. First you need to get out of your wet clothes thought, and I’ll have a warm tea ready for you in a minute. I don’t want you will catch a bad cold.” 

“Ah yes, I’d love a tea, laddie, but I should have explained right away. A caravan of dwarrows sits just outside Bag End, looking for shelter until the worst of the storm passes.”

“A caravan?”

“A caravan full of dwarrows?” Frodo came into the entrance hall still in his breeches and nightshirt, yawning but clearly awake enough to hone in on the most interesting detail of the conversation.

“Hullo Frodo. Have you grown? You look taller since I last saw you.”

Frodo ran over to hug his dwarven friend. “Helg! I grew a whole inch and ...”

“How many?” was all that Bilbo uttered, repeating it several times before his nephew and the old dwarrow returned their attention to him.

“Well,” Helg started to count aloud, “To start with, there is caravan master Nallim and his men, then the family Kul, they are three, the Raks, that’s two, plus three of the Gars... I think about two dozen.  A few mothers with babes and bairns who need a place to keep them safe and calm.”

“Oh by Valar, we must bring them in immediately.” Bilbo lurged toward the door. “How could you have not told me this first?” His hand turned the doorknob and he would have rushed out headlessly had Helg not held him back by the shoulders.

“Bilbo, let me go get them - I am already soaked. Why don’t you set up an area with towels and blankets, boil more water for tea, and gather some food for the little ones to start with?  Dwarrows are quite hardy, and the male caravaners can wait for a little while longer outside. Your home is wonderful but will not fit us all so if you could think of perhaps another place where the rest of the dwarrows could stay overnight with the wagons and ponies, that would go a long way.”

“Of course, of course. Let me see what I can come up with here, and we shall talk once the mothers and their children are settled in.” Bilbo hurried into the kitchen to fill several pots with water while Helg opened the green door and braved the storm again to communicate their plan to the rest of the caravan. 

Frodo was left in the hallway, gaping for while before he jumped into action. “I can help!” He shouted into the kitchen.

“How about if you go and grab all the towels, sheets and blankets that you can find in the linen closet and bring it into the sitting room?”

“Oi, I’ll do that!”

\---

To everyone’s relief the dwarflings and babes were all in good health - a little cranky but that was understandable after being jostled around in a hurry and caught up in the adults’ frenzy of activities. The dwarrowdams thanked Bilbo and Frodo profusely as they each found a place on the quilts that were spread out on the floor of the large sitting room and proceeded to dry themselves and their children while they sipped tea and hot chocolate and nipped on the scones, cookies, cheese and dried fruits that Bilbo had assembled onto trays as quickly as he could. Frodo was hopping gainly from dwarrow to dwarrow, happily assisting wherever he could.

Once the most immediate needs were addressed Bilbo ran into the bedrooms to change the sheets and throw on a wool tunic.

As he struggled into his hefty raincoat in the hallway, he called out to his nephew: “Frodo, if any of the mothers and children get tired please send them to one of our beds or the guest room beds. I have to run out for a short while and see if the Ivy Inn has room. It’s quite small,” he said to Helg who had brought in the last mother with her children as well as the caravan master, “but it is the next best place for tonight.”

He was about to grab the door as it was pushed open again. A head full of curly blond locks set above a pair of dark eyes appeared in the smial.

“Lobelia!” Bilbo had no idea why his cousin always managed to appear at the worst time but there she was, squeezing her way in with no small amount of force, her cheeks flushed and puffed up. He did not know if he could endure even one second of listening to her all-too-familiar rants. 

When she saw all the dwarrowdams and dwarven youngins sitting on the floor, her mouth closed before she could stop her already formed word and emitted an odd sound of “Bilmmppt?” instead.

Bilbo snorted with impatience as he reached for his umbrella. “Lobelia, I cannot talk right now. Can you please save your vitriol and disapproving glares for later?”

“Where ... where are you going?”

“To the Ivy Inn, we need to find shelter for the Caravan overnight.” He continued, talking to himself more than to his cousin. “If they are full, I will have to trudge to Tuckborough Hall or see the mayor of Michael Delving for assistance.”

“Have them move the wagons and ponies to our mill for shelter.” Lobelia suggested.

“What?” Bilbo stopped, his hand frozen on handle of his umbrella.

“I said they can stay at our mill overnight.” Lobelia repeated. “Can you not hear me?”

“But...”

“Go - Otho is at home, tell him to give you the keys. I’ll stay here until you get back, and don’t even think for a minute that I will let Frodo be the master of this house.”

“But Aunt ... “

“You may assist me but a fauntling of fourteen cannot handle hosting this many guests.”

“Lobelia, are you sure?”

“What do you need, a formal invitation? I said go. Before everyone outside drowns in this weather!” Lobelia put her hands on her hips, a signal for Bilbo and Frodo to remove themselves from her vicinity as quickly as possible. Poor Helg and Nallim were left to deal with her as she started to bark out orders to get everyone in Bag End organized.

It took only an hour to store the caravan wagons in the mill and to find a place for sleep. The ponies and half of the adult dwarrows ended up lodging at the inn while the caravan master, Helg, the women and children remained at Bag End. It was a tight fit but with the additional pillows and blankets that Lobelia had Otho bring over, everyone managed to find a cozy spot to rest in while the storm blew through.

\---

In the morning the caravaning guests awoke to the smells and sights of an overflowing hot breakfast table prepared by Bilbo, Lobelia and Frodo. Amidst all the happy chatter and eating, Nallim and Helg stood up and raised a big cheer for their rescuers, and when the guests readied themselves for their departure, Helg pulled Bilbo into the hallway and pressed a small pouch into the hobbit’s hand.

“Nallim and entire caravan want to thank you for everything that you have done for us.” 

Bilbo peered into the pouch and spotted several large gems that were the size of baby fists. “I cannot take this!”

“Please Bilbo, it’s the least that we can do. We are forever in your debt.”

“Forever in your...” A determined Bilbo placed the pouch back into Helg’s palm. “We have no need for things like gems here in the Shire! You best save them for any emergencies that you may encounter during your journey.”

An equally determined Helg pushed the pouch back into the hobbit's hands. “We have plenty of gems to see us through, I assure you. You cannot return our gift - dwarrows consider it a major offense when someone rejects a gift for no good reason.”

“But I just gave you two good reasons!”

Helg shook his head. “They do not count.”

“Fine.” Bilbo huffed. “But know that in return this gift obligates you to stay at Bag End whenever you are in the neighbourhood. And for anyone in the caravan to drop by for afternoon tea. At four.”

“You and your afternoon teas!”

“You and your sparkly material gifts!”

Helg laughed and gently reached behind Bilbo’s neck to bring the hobbit’s forehead to touch with his own. “Be well, Bilbo. And you,” he turned to Frodo who had come to stand next to Bilbo, “I should tell you that you truly deserve the title that some of the dwarrows have bestowed upon you.  Thank you, Frodo Bȃhu Khazȃd.”

“Frodo Bahoowhat?” Frodo’s eyes widened at the sound of the foreign words.

Helg smiled his brightest smile. “Frodo Bȃhu Khazȃd. Frodo, friend of the dwarrows.”

“You gave him a Khuzdul nickname,” Bilbo breathed out in delighted astonishment.

“Yes. The name emerged rather naturally, just like a Khuzdul name should. Just like yours, Bilbo Uklabu Sulȗkh. Or rather, as I would like to think, Bilbo Uklabu Uzbȃd.” The dwarrow winked with undisguised mischief.

“Mine?? What do you mean?”

“My apologies, I cannot tell you, Khuzdul is ... “

“Yeah, yeah, secret language and all. But you just told Frodo about the meaning of his Khuzdul name!”

“Why yes. I find it cruel to keep secrets from children unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“But it’s ok to keep them from me?” Bilbo was incensed which amused Helg even more and he laughed. 

“Don’t worry, you will learn their meanings sooner or later. I don’t think that I should be the one who tells you the Westron equivalent. Trust me when I say that your title is not recently formed.”

Bilbo startled. “What do you know about me?”

Helg’s look was benevolent. “Do you think that the dwarrows of Ered Luin do not not know of your heroic service to the Longbeards?” The dwarrow shook his head and added, “If you must know, that is where this caravan is headed to. Erebor. We hope to reach the foot of the mountain before the snow makes the route impassable.”

“Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo spoke up but his uncle placed a heavy hand on the fauntling’s shoulder to steady himself and  slowly sunk to the floor.

Bilbo looked at the other dwarrows in the next room and returned his gaze to his friend. “Do they all...”

“All the adult dwarrows are aware of the recent history but most do not remember the name of the ... burglar.” At this word, Bilbo swallowed with some effort.

“And those who know about you have enough tact to believe that tricky subject matters from the past should be left in the past.” Helg looked pointedly at Frodo and added, “Everything shall reveal itself with the natural flow of time.”

A dry laughter tumbled out of Bilbo’s mouth. “If my eyes were closed I would swear that it was a wizard who had spoken just now instead of a dwarrow.”

“Well, laddie, that observation is the result of over two centuries of this silly old dwarrow making mistakes, rushing headlong into things and letting tempers dictate my life. Eventually some of the wisdom bits stick.”

Helg bent down to give Frodo a long hug.

“Take good care of each other, and I promise to see you when I return from Erebor in the summer.”

“We will miss you, Helg!” Frodo sniffed. Bilbo could only nod.

\--- 

So the caravan left, sated, dry and eager to continue. Helg waved cheerfully from the back of the last wagon, holding a massive cheese wheel in his lap and a pouch stuffed to the brim with Longbottom Leaf pipe-weed tied to his belt.

Frodo, Bilbo and Lobelia stood at the gate, waving back until the last visible dot on the horizon had disappeared. Only then did Bilbo turn to address his cousin.

“I know I have already thanked you several times but I want to thank you again for helping us when you really had no reason to do so.”

“Oh, pish posh.” Lobelia was already heading up the steps to the Bag End front door and turned around, “I know that you do not think much of me or my opinions but I will have you know that a Bracegirdle would never allow themselves to leave a traveler unaided.”

“I am sorry that I misjudged you.” Bilbo pulled out the pouch that Helg had given him and showed its contents to Lobelia. “The caravan wanted us to have this in thanks for our hospitality. I think you and Otho should take it.” He hesitated before suggesting, “Perhaps, if you are agreeable, you could let Frodo choose one gem as a keepsake?”

“Bilbo Baggins!” Both Bilbo and Frodo ducked even though Lobelia’s umbrella still hung on the coat rack in Bag End.  “I cannot believe that after all this you would still try and insult me with ... with this payoff! You are lucky that you have not given me the pouch yet or you would find yourself nursing a rather large lump on your forehead right now.”

“That’s just great.” mumbled Bilbo. “So what will you have me do instead? There’s not enough of my mother’s silverware left to give you.”

“Blast you Tooks! As if I ever wanted your old scratched-up cutlery.” she scoffed. “If you drop your ridiculous accusations and offer me a proper and sincere apology, I will happily return to my smial with one gem from the caravan’s pouch.”

After a short moment Bilbo nodded, and with that, a hatchet was finally buried.


	6. Something Familiar and Yet Foreign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last trip to Bree before first snowfall.

They were in Bree again a month later.

Winter had started to creep into the region, and it would only be a matter of time before the snow moved in.

The farmers’ forecast declared that the coming winter would be on the milder side. This usually meant lots and lots of snow, and while it was not easy to travel outside of Hobbiton during these kinds of winters Bilbo never minded too much since the fauntlings always had the most fun when there was plenty of snow to roll around in and to build all sorts of wondrous icy creations.

This was going to be their last excursion to the large market for the next few months while they waited for the deepest part of the winter to pass but Bilbo smiled nevertheless. Garin had promised to stop by Bag End during the Yule holidays - he had no family in the mountain and insisted that he could not think of any better company than his two favourite hobbits. And if during their last conversation he happened to mention (numerous times!) that a Hobbit’s home cooked meal was his absolute favourite in all of Middle Earth, well, who could refuse him a happiness that could be granted with so little extra effort? In return, the young dwarrow had promised Frodo a bedtime story every night which would leave Bilbo with more time to continue the work on his latest book.

As Bilbo balanced his empty baskets in the crook of his elbows he watched Frodo and his friend dart away, handily weaving between the shopping crowds and making a beeline to baker Mungo and the cookies that were surely waiting for them, hidden away under the trays of baked goods that were for sale.

Meriadoc Brandybuck had been over the moon when his mother Esmeralda dropped him off at their doorsteps this morning and begged Bilbo to look after her energetic son while she was busy helping with the preparations for the upcoming wedding between their cousin Rosamunda Took and Odovacar Bolger.

Bilbo had no idea what Frodo had told Merry about the Bree market trips but he noticed that the strawberry blonde boy was even friskier than usual. The additional level of frenzy infected his nephew without fail: Although he rarely lost his temper with children he ended up shouting at the two more than once during their trek, ordering them to stop clambering up trees and crashing into berry bushes. By the time they arrived at Bree, he was holding onto two beaming fauntlings that were in a rather disheveled and scratched up state.

Bilbo was transferring the apples that he had purchased from his favourite fruit vendor when he felt a familiar tingling sensation in the nape of his neck that told him that someone had moved close enough to him to trigger a sense of discomfort.  He put the last of the fruits in the basket and straightened up as a voice sounded out:

“Frodo? Frodo Bȃhu Khazȃd?”

“Hmm?” Bilbo turned.

The dwarrow before him was dressed in a simple style that was topped off with a heavy fur wrap of exquisite quality (most hobbits had an excellent sense of textiles and fashion, and Bilbo was no exception). His smile was polite and detached, befitting the short dark hair that was cropped on the sides and back of the head, leaving the top of his head with a set of longer wavy strands that hung over the forehead and nearly touched his long eyelashes.  The beard was kept just as short as the sides of his head but featured a dusting of grey - quite an attractive look when paired with the intense blue grey eyes that studied the hobbit with a measured and intelligent look. Bilbo thought that there was something familiar in the stance and the way the stranger’s eyebrows raised up as he initiated the conversation.

“I was informed last week that a hobbit named Frodo had proven himself to be a great friend to the dwarven travelers from Ered Luin. I was told to look for him here in Bree during the Bree-land market festival, and when I asked a vendor about it, he pointed at you.”

“Oh! You must have misunderstood him. I am not actually Frodo ...,” and then Bilbo was interrupted by the exhilarated voice of his nephew.

“Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Bilbo! Mungo said the King of the Blue Mountain was looking for me here at the market! Can we go find him?”

Meriadoc hollered wholeheartedly, his typical way to support Frodo and any of his other hobbit friends. “A real king of the dwarves! And he’s looking for Frodo!”

“It’s dwarrows, Merry.”

“A KING OF DWARROWS!!!”

The fauntlings came to a sudden halt in front of the tall dwarrow, and as they glanced from his dwarven boots up the leather pants and over the fur-covered arms and shoulders, their eyes settled on the regal looking face. Both jaws dropped, and while Frodo’s eyes went as round as melons, Merry blinked his as tentatively as a newly hatched butterfly flapped its wings.

The leader of Ered Luin bowed deeply before the two young hobbits. “Greetings, Master Hobbits. I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” He followed it up with an equally deep bow to Bilbo.

Bilbo placed his hands on both Frodo and Merry’s backs and guided them into a respectable bow as he responded in kind.

“Your majesty. We are likewise honoured that you wish to speak with us.”

“Very honoured. Honoured so much!” Frodo exhaled in reverence.

“VERY MUCH!” Merry shamelessly basked in the honour.

“Now pray tell, which of you fine and brave younglins answers to the name ‘Frodo’?” the king asked indulgently.

“Him!” And with that, Merry gave his dark-curled friend a big shove, grinning as if he had just delivered a giant birthday cake.

“Ah, my thanks, little hobbit. And who might you be?” The strong big hand that was held out to the eager blond fauntling was seized with pride and shaken in the most sincere and enthusiastic manner.

“I’m Meriadoc Brandybuck but you can call me ‘Merry’ like all my friends even though we are not friends yet. You can also call me ‘Meriadoc’, like my mom does whenever she cannot find me, or ‘babydoc’, like my dad always does but I actually don’t like that anymore....”

“Master Merry, well met.” The dwarrow’s face was still serious but Bilbo could see the corners of his mouth twitching, and that in turn made him want to laugh out loud. However, he did not want to risk ruining the moment for the boys and therefore turned back towards to the fruit stand, pretending to check out more of the wares while he listened in on the exchange between the king, Frodo and Merry.

The dwarrow now turned his attention to the Bilbo’s fauntling.

“Master Frodo. I am here to thank you and,” a cautiously worded sentence meant to test an assumption, “your uncle? For all the help that you have given the dwarrows of Ered Luin. I must apologize for my informal and unstately introduction. I was under the impression that Frodo was a hobbit of adult age who strongly disagreed with ceremony and pomp. Had I known this to be untrue, I would have sent a formal delegation instead. And,” he chuckled, “now I realize that I was never given a full name either.”

“Oh.” Frodo waved at the king’s statement. “That’s ok. I’m still too small to go anywhere by myself unless Uncle Bilbo comes with me, except for Hobbiton, and everyone there knows who I am, of course.”

“Uncle Bilbo?” The tone in which the question was asked bore a murky undertone. Bilbo immediately shifted into his guarded state as he studied the king’s blank facial expression and watched for any reactions to his affirmative response.

“Yes, that’s me. Uncle Bilbo.”

“Bilbo Baggins.” Now the tone sounded confounded.

“And Frodo Baggins.” Merry threw in for good measure.

“You are the Bagginses of Bag End. Of course.” The king added grimly.

A dread suddenly settled into the pit of Bilbo’s stomach while Frodo and Merry were quite pleased that the smial was known by royalty.

“Of course what?” Frodo piped up but Bilbo put his hand lightly on the boy’s mouth and used his other hand to clasp Merry’s shoulder, surreptitiously moving them behind him, away from the very stunned and possibly angry dwarrow.

“You.” The king leveled an intense glance at the hobbits that had all three take a step backward on instinct.

Bilbo recovered almost immediately and gave a cursory bow to the dwarrow while he grabbed each fauntling by their elbows, readying himself for a hasty retreat. “Ah ... really, it was nothing, just a couple of dwarven travelers in need of a friendly face. Not worth any mention, anyone would have done so, best not to fuss over.”

“A few dwarrows?” The royal raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You mean to say a good hundred dwarrows! The reputation of your nephew has been traveling up and down our kingdom like wildfire, particularly with the latest story about how he rescued an entire dwarven caravan on their way to Erebor.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t call it a rescue.” Bilbo was desperate to come up with a way to downplay the entire episode and withdraw without offense, so he tried one more time. “My king, it was our greatest honour, but we must ....”

“Queen.”

“Queen?” Frodo echoed.

“If we are to begin to speak to each with more honesty, yes, I am the Queen of Ered Luin.”

Bilbo’s heart leapt at the correction and took off like a galloping horse. A memory that had been buried deep within the recesses of his brain resurfaced, and suddenly all the pieces in his mind slid into place to form a clear picture.

“Queen Dís,” he exclaimed with a faint heartbeat.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Merry fought to come out from behind the older hobbit. “You are a lady king?”

“Queen of an entire mountain.” Frodo peered from behind his uncle’s back.

“Yes.” With some hesitation the dwarrow added. “And your uncle is held in extremely high regard by the entire Longbeard clan because he was once a much valued member of Thorin Oakenshield’s company.”

“Thorin Oakenshield?” Frodo emerged from his uncle’s back and gaped, his mind clearly working overtime.

“Yes, Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror. My brother. The uncle of my sons, Kíli and Fíli.”

“No way!” Frodo started to bounce as he digested the news, grabbing Merry’s hand in the process who began to jump along.

Bilbo stood still, his eyes trained on the ground. The queen sent him a questioning look before asking Frodo: “Have you not heard of your uncle’s journey to help reclaim the Lonely Mountain?”

“I have, I have! He never tells me anything about the company though. Your sons went along? The ones you call Kíli and Fíli?”

Frodo looked at his uncle and then Dís. “Ohhh, I would so like to meet them. Or maybe I should write them first. May I write them, please??”

“Yes, I wanne write them, too!” Merry interrupted.

“Frodo! Merry.” Bilbo hushed his two charges in horror. “Sorry- you cannot. They are ... gone.” The last word came out in the quietest manner but everyone still heard him.

“Gone? But where did they go? Why can’t we write them?"

“They have gone to the Halls of Waiting to be with their forebearers.” Dís added almost tonelessly.

Even the fauntlings felt the heaviness of the response. It was a strange counterpoint to the lively chatter and market noises around them, and any exuberance that the two little hobbits exhibited before vanished into a crestfallen silence.

Dís spoke up. “Perhaps we could go somewhere else to talk? I would like it very much if you grant me this request.”

Bilbo nodded slowly. His insides screamed and he felt a fierce longing for the safety and familiarity of his hobbit hole.

“Are you amenable to coming to our home in Hobbiton?”

“Certainly. I will have my guards follow us and remain on the outskirts of the Shire?”

“As you wish.” Bilbo nodded.

“Well then, lead on.” Dís’ face was determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you like the appearance of Dis? 
> 
> Meriadoc was not planned at all but he somehow managed to sneak in, that rascal.


	7. Dreadful Secrets and Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overdue conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the week long wait: I struggled with this chapter a lot (I might be still struggling with it). I found it difficult to write about these emotions and felt alternatingly (and sometimes simultaneously) like a melodramatic fool and an insensitive oaf.
> 
> WARNING! This is not a happy chapter. There may be tears - ok, there are definitely tears in the chapter - so proceed with caution.

Bilbo Baggins’ name had never been far from her mind.

Ever since that cursed day when Roӓc had flown past the main gates of Ered Luin and down the corridors, deep into the bowels of the mountain to knock heavily against the door of her personal quarters.

She hadn’t believed the news at first. Surely it was only a ruse designed to protect them from the enemies. Or it was one of those terrible tasteless jokes that cousin Daín was known to be fond of. 

But the Lord of the Iron Hills (and now King under the Mountain) had known her well enough to send the message sealed with his personal sigil. It contained the runes that she had given to her sons, along with the mithril bead that her brother had worn since childhood. The sight of these artefacts shattered her heart into fragments far too innumerable and tiny for any hope of reassembly. 

To this day she never saw a portrait of the hobbit of said name. There had been sketches by Ori but she had always refused to look at any of the renderings or written accounts of the journey by the official scribe of Erebor. 

It was still too raw.

\---

Even now, each morning, her first waking thoughts tell her that they are alive: arguing good-naturedly in their rooms or having a loud conversation over breakfast in the dining hall; trying their best to remain serious during guard duty or tearing out of the mountain to go hunting in the woods. Always soon to return, filled to the brim with youthful energies and optimisms, dispensing affectionate hugs and kisses before rushing off to their next adventure. Anywhere but under those heavy and thick slabs of marble, so uncharacteristically inanimate. So unlike her Fíli and Kíli.

And every time, the heartache buries her like a tidal wave seconds later, dragging her below her sanity and tossing around what’s left of her with complete abandon.

She never fights back. She yearns for the end that never comes but instead, something forces a new beginning into her hollow shell each time. It scrapes every ounce of energy that is left and makes her leave the sweet inertia and numbness, until she remembers all those whose lives rely on her rulership and care.

And so she feigns and acts, a benevolent queen whose subjects are her only hold on life. 

\--- 

Two years disappeared within the blink of defeated eyes. They were eyes that barely shrugged at the cruel lie of time healing all wounds. If the passing time could not be felt then how was healing to ever occur? 

And now here she was in the hobbit hole where the end of her family had begun with the signature of a hobbit burglar.

\---

Thorin had always been the unrealistic dreamer in the family: The one who had been steadfast in his belief that father was alive; the one who held the unwavering certainty that Erebor would one day be home again; and the one for whom glory would only come in the form of a dead fire dragon named Smaug.

He had stoked that same hope in his nephews and with it, their eagerness to go into a fight where the exchange of a reclaimed mountain for the return to stone seemed justifiable and worthwhile.

\---

Somehow the queen, the burglar, and two curious hobbit boys found themselves around the dining table next to the kitchen, the only place in Bag End where thirteen dwarrows, a wizard and a hobbit had been able to fit. 

It was to the young hobbits’ credit that they sought to overcome the empty space and silence with an excessive amount of rambunctious noises, far more than they typically produced. Bilbo could not help but marvel at their talent to distract by sheer effort. 

They refused to leave the two adults to their ‘big talking’, claiming with no lack of self-importance that they needed to protect the ‘most majestic guest that has ever been in the Shire’ (Bilbo did not bother correcting that). 

Bilbo knew better than to try and dissuade his nephew, and since Dís did not appear to be in any hurry, he acquiesced and sent word with one of his neighbour’s faunt to inform his cousin that Merry would stay the night at Bag End.

\--- 

During their trip back to Hobbiton Frodo had been fascinated with Dís’ short hair and beard. He spent most of the time gawping at it with an unabashed curiousity - that is, until Bilbo could take no more and pulled him aside as the other hobbitling walked next to the dwarven queen, prattling on about his family as if he was merely talking to one of his aunts or uncles. 

“Frodo, it is not very polite to stare at someone’s face for that long.”

“I am sorry, uncle. I am trying really hard not to look. But why are her hair and beard so short? ”

“If I tell you the reason, can you promise me that you and Merry will not bother the queen with questions about her sons?”

Frodo nodded solemnly, “I promise, Uncle Bilbo.” 

“Well, Garin or Helg might have told you before that hair is an important part of dwarven tradition and pride. Cutting off any hair is considered a drastic act only done in extreme situations.”

“Wow. So something really bad happened?”

“Yes, Frodo. She has lost all of her immediate family. The last of them, her sons and her older brother, all died in the Battle of the Five Armies. So it seems that she wears her hair and beard short to show that she is in severe mourning.” Deep in thoughts, Bilbo added, “Thorin kept his beard very short as a symbol of his grief after Smaug and the Battle at Moria. He lost so many loved ones over the years.”

“Oh. They must be sad like me whenever I think about mom and dad.”

“You understand then?” Bilbo ruffled his nephew’s hair with affection.

Frodo nodded and reached for Bilbo’s hand. “You have it, uncle.”

“What of it, Frodo?” Bilbo wrapped his hand protectively around the smaller hand.

“The sadness that the queen and I feel.”

“Sometimes I feel sad too, yes. But I have you now, my sunshine.”

“And I’m not sad that often anymore.” Frodo squeezed his uncle’s hand, and Bilbo squeezed right back. “Can we help Queen Dís be less sad, too?”

“Perhaps, my brave little hobbit. Perhaps.”

And true to his promise later on that day at the table, Frodo dug his elbow into Merry’s side each time his friend started to ask a question about Kíli and Fíli until Dís let out a sigh.

“Frodo, I have no trouble telling you and Merry about my sons so please stop jabbing your friend.”

“But it’s not nice to ask you about ... ”

“Actually ... I find it almost a relief.” Dís leaned in closer, and the two fauntlings followed suit. 

“Most dwarrows do not want to upset or offend me, so I rarely have a chance to talk about my sons. I would quite like to tell you about how Kíli always managed to disappear after causing mayhem in the royal quarters or how Fíli would always take the blame for each of their pranks. Or about the day when they drove their uncle so mad with their shenanigans that he picked them up by the back of their shirts and locked them into a room full of feisty grandmothers.” A wistful smile appeared on her face before it transformed into a faint smile of youthful mischief. Bilbo recognized the Durin smirk with a pang of ache. 

After this, the boys’ inhibitions fell away, and they kept the queen busy with many questions about dwarrows, the Durins, Erebor and Ered Luin. Their interrogation lasted all the way through dinner and dessert. 

With the last sips of tea and warm honeyed milk still sitting in the cups, Frodo’s curiousity was finally sated. He sat back in his seat and pondered over the answers while Merry’s head laid on the table sideways, his mouth partially open to emit a soft snoring noise. Bilbo excused himself from the dwarrowdam and ushered the two little hobbits into Frodo’s room.

When Bilbo returned to the dining room with a freshly brewed tea and slices of lavender honey cake, Dís said, “My original reason for seeking out Frodo was to thank and invite him to Ered Luin as an honoured guest of mine.” 

Dís looked at Bilbo. “I do not want you to think that I am not not grateful for everything that you and your nephew have done for my people recently, so I still intend to ask him.”

“I wish you would reconsider the offer.” The hobbit fiddled with his tea cup.

“Why?” 

“I don’t know if he is ready.”

“You mean, you don’t know if you are ready. Frodo seems more than capable and willing to ....”

“So then ask. Do you know what will happen? He will say yes, and I will not be able to say no.”

A sob made it to the surface. “And then I have to face it all again. See the rest of the company and be reminded over and over that Thorin and your sons are dead and gone forever. How can I tell Frodo that I will never be as happy as he wants me to be? Don’t you see?” He wrung his hands. “There is not a day that goes by when I don’t long to hear Thorin’s voice again, to see Kíli’s bright smile or to feel Fíli’s warm arm wrapped around my shoulders.”

Dís’ voice rose in response. “How do you think I feel? He promised me, Bilbo! They promised and laughed and told me not to worry.”

“But you ... you had promises! Whereas I,” his voice broke, “... I have nothing but silly hopes and unresolved feelings.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Wrong??”

“I know how you feel about him and my sons. I see it clearly in your face.” The queen’s tears flowed but she pressed on with determination. “I also know how much you meant to them. Kíli and Fíli both wrote me during the journey. Little torn pieces of paper or cloth that they tied to any willing ravens that crossed their paths, with bits of information scribbled down in their messy handwriting, assuring me that they were ok, that Erebor was getting closer.”

Her eyes shined with an openness that rendered Bilbo speechless. “They also mentioned you without fail. How you fussed over them like a mother hen. How you treated them like they were your close kin. And Thorin ... a year after they ... after the battle ended, Balin sent my brother’s journal along with a note of apology.”

It was as if Dís was talking to herself. “I was so angry at him for the longest time. Every time I skimmed through his writing, every mention of my sons made me see red with rage. I was always one step away from throwing the damn book into the fire.”

She stared into her cup for a long time. Finally she looked up at the hobbit, and there was so much sympathy in her glance that Bilbo had to avert his eyes. “I’ve locked it away in my chambers. You... you should read it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“He wanted to build a future with you.”

“What ... when?”

“Just before he stormed into the battle. He wrote about what he had done to you at the ramparts and of his deep regret that he raged against you. He was terrified that his threats and banishment had lost your trust forever. It was in the journal where he confessed his true feelings and fears.”

“I found him before his death. He told me that he wished to part in friendship and that he wanted nothing more than have me return to my home and find happiness again...,” Bilbo whimpered.

“Oh Bilbo.” Dís scooted over to where Bilbo sat and pressed him close to her heart. 

She mumbled into his hair. “In Erebor you are known as ‘Bilbo Uklabu Sulȗkh’ - Bilbo, charmer of dragons. But Thorin’s Company calls you ‘Uklabu Uzbȃd’ - charmer of kings. I thought they wanted to immortalize the story of an unlikely friendship, and I disregarded everything Thorin wrote in the last pages of his notebook because of my anger and his gold sickness. I can see now that I was blind.”

Dís took Bilbo’s hands into her own and told him, “On the last page Thorin called you his ‘Uksatul mudtu’. Truest heart.”

There was only one word left in Bilbo. 

“Thorin.”

They wept together.

\---

When the combined flood of hot tears ebbed, a new conversation emerged. One that was filled with trivial memories and details, insignificant on their own but when put together, created their loved ones anew.

Bilbo had warmed up the remains of a blueberry pie in the middle of the night, and together they consumed it in silence. Its taste was enhanced by the salty tears shed when Bilbo told Dís that Kíli and Fíli had made him promise to bake them their favourite dessert once the kitchens of Erebor were functional again.

Eventually they passed out in front of the flickering light of the fireplace, sitting and leaning against Bilbo’s favourite armchair and into each other, the exhaustion painted on their sleeping faces. 

That was where Frodo and Merry found them early in the morning.

It was a childish intuition that made them wiggle into the hollow spaces of the sleeping adult form, and once fully embedded, they all slept together for a little while longer, until the dark shadows dissolved into the beginnings of the morning sun.


	8. A Happier Hobbit (or Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of a good cry, and Frodo saves the day as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry for the two-week silence. Figuring out the ending took longer than I thought (lots of rewriting) but resulted in a longer-than-usual chapter and (ta da) a bonus chapter that I am releasing at the same time. I hope you will enjoy them :)

To say that the next morning in Bag End was relaxed and easy was as truthful as Bilbo announcing to the entirety of Hobbiton that he preferred two meals a day instead of the regular seven. 

It was one thing to share emotional outbursts within the comforts of a dark night; it was a totally different matter to sit across each other under the harsh morning sun, poking at butter-and-syrup drenched griddle cakes and trying to make insignificant small talk while two little hobbits looked on, chomping down on their breakfasts with big bites that made them look like industrious chipmunks preparing for the winter.

After finding that the conversation was deteriorating steadily into a complete collapse, Dís decided to announce the original reason behind their encounter, and as she invited them to visit the mountain as guests she noted with a slight pang of guilt how the hobbit of the smial slumped over his breakfast plate in resignation.

He could have collapsed and slid under the table for that matter: Frodo and Merry were up from the bench in a split second, jumping in excitement, their food and everything else instantly forgotten.

“Oh boy! Really? We are really invited to your mountain?”

“Guests of honour?”

“Can we ride atop a horse?”

“Can you show us your crown? And your throne?”

“What about dwarflings? There must be dwarflings, can we meet them?”

“Can I swing a battle axe?”

Three sets of eyes locked onto Merry whose face turned beet red at the attention that he received with his last utterance.

“Well, mom won’t let me even hold a hunting knife.” he said defiantly. 

“You mind your manners, young man. Do not even think to bring this up with your poor parents, Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Bilbo snapped at him and then mumbled, “Who’s ever heard of a hobbit demanding to hold a deadly weapon?” He sounded not unlike Gandalf complaining about the dwarrows.

Since Bilbo had already conceded to Dís that he was unable to deny his nephew’s wishes, the only obstacle left was to convince Saradoc and Esmeralda to let Merry leave the Shire and join them on the trip. 

In the end, it was decided that Esmeralda would travel along with them as another chaperone - which turned out to be an excellent foresight as the number of fauntlings doubled over the course of that day: No sooner had they finished their second hobbit breakfast (and the only dwarven one) when Samwise Gamgee, Bilbo gardener’s son / Frodo’s shadow and Merry’s little Took cousin Peregrin “Pippin” appeared at the front steps of Bag End and timidly asked to speak with ‘the majesty of the mountain’. Bilbo merely shrugged when he met the unspoken astonishment in the dwarrowdam's eyes about the speed of news travel in the Shire.

Dís acceded to the spontaneous meeting with amusement, then found herself powerless against the pleas and the young pair’s puppy-eyed faces. She convinced herself that the appearance of four improbably adorable tiny hobbits during the Yule season would work wonders at raising the low spirits of her subjects after the mass exodus of  dwarrows who had left to seek fortunes in the reclaimed Erebor.

Gradually, Bilbo also made peace with the idea of seeing Ered Luin, which was helped a great deal by the strengthening bond that developed between him and Thorin’s sister. He began to look forward to learning about the dwarven kingdom through its queen and the dwarrows that he had met in Bree through Frodo, and it was the sense of going on an adventure with his young nephew that caused him to voice his concerns about traveling with only two guards while he was enjoying a pipe with Dís back in the garden one evening.

“Ah, don’t worry, Bilbo. I have already made arrangements to have a few additional guards join us here for the journey. They should arrive within a fortnight. I believe that this would give you and Esmeralda enough time to get everything ready?”

“Yes, splendid, thank you. It will give me the time to make a few Yule treats that I would like to bring with us, too.”

“We have plenty of Yule food in the mountain, Bilbo.”

“Yes, I do not doubt that but I would prefer to bring a few traditional home made hobbit treats. And if you will allow me, I would also very much like to prepare a festive meal for you and your staff as a thank you for the invitation.”

“Very well, Master hobbit.” Dís smiled. “I have full confidence that you possess the utmost skills in charming your way into my people’s heart through their stomachs.” And with that, she stole a couple of lavender scones from the cooling rack and strolled out of the kitchen with an air of regal untouchability that left the hobbit too flabbergasted to protest the royal misappropriation of his pastries.

\--- 

To ensure that his cousin and the fauntlings would travel in relative comfort, Bilbo went to nearby Michael Delving to let a small wagon and two ponies. He was loading the last few baskets of food into the wagon on the morning of their departure when he heard a voice cry out not far behind him.

“Bilbo!”

“Ori?” The hobbit almost fell off the wagon in shock. That feeling was quickly replaced with indignation and irritation when he felt himself lifted straight off the stoop on which he stood until a second ago. His back collided with a metal breastplate, and the crushing grip and strength behind this action was unmistakeable.

“Dwalin! Let me down, you big lug!” Bilbo struggled against the warrior’s hold.

“It’s not fair, you know you have to share him!” Ori stepped up to the other dwarrow and held out his arms until Dwalin reluctantly handed Bilbo over to the scribe who returned the hobbit to the ground with a gentle pat.

“What. In Yavanna’s name! Why are you here?” As the shock wore off, Bilbo felt joy, fear, annoyance and a few other undetermined emotions take its place. He could hardly believe that two of his former adventure companions stood in front of him. 

“We thought you ... that you knew that we ... we were coming. To the Shire - to go with you.” Ori explained weakly. “Dís told us that you couldn’t wait to see us.”

Bilbo gritted through his teeth. “Oh yes, Dís. Of course. Where is the devious mastermind?” 

“You called?” Dís walked out of the smial with Frodo in tow. Her innocent smile did not fool Bilbo for one second - he recognized without difficulty that same twinkle of mischief that Kili and Fili had possessed. “Frodo, please meet Bilbo’s friends from Erebor, Ori and Dwalin.”

“Hullo.” Frodo beamed at the new arrivals.

“You asked them to come here.” Although Bilbo appeared unperturbed on the surface, his nephew knew that such calm demeanour usually masked a brewing anger underneath. Ori’s hasty retreat showed that he too was familiar with the hobbit’s outbursts, and even Dwalin was worried enough to take a step back. Only Dís remained unaffected as she crossed her arms and responded to his restrained observation with a haughty look.

“We needed additional guards, and they were passing by on their way from Erebor.”

“Your guards. You said you made arrangements for YOUR guards to come.”

“No, I did not SAY THAT.” Dís straightened up and stared down her nose at Bilbo, very much like Thorin had been known to do to the hobbit during the quest.

Bilbo took the few steps back so he could glare better at Dís and demonstratively placed his hands on his hips. “You most certainly did, YOUR MOST SNEAKY HIGHNESS.” 

“WHAT? I only said that I was getting additional guards, YOU INSOLENT HOBBIT.”

“INSOLENT? Me???” Bilbo sputtered in frustration. “YOU ... YOU ...”

“Uncle?” came out of Frodo’s mouth as a slight squeak, and both his uncle and queen whipped their heads around to look at the boy who sought comfort by Dwalin’s legs. The tall dwarrow put his hands protectively on Frodo’s shoulders and scowled at the two noisemakers who deflated at the sight.

“Frodo! Oh ...  I’m so sorry.” Bilbo bent down and held his arms out towards his nephew who did not hesitate to scoot into his arms.

“Me too.” Echoed Dís, which earned her a slightly less vicious glare from her combatant.

“Why are you screaming at each other?” Frodo inquired with curiousity. “Are you not friends anymore?”

“Ah.” Bilbo felt hot shame rising into his cheeks. “Sometimes things are a bit more complicated for us adults.  I’m sure we are still friends though. Aren’t we?” and he turned to the dwarrowdam.

“Of course! It would be a very silly thing to break up a good friendship over a such a small disagreement.” Dís stepped up to the hobbits and gave Frodo a peck on his cheek before she bestowed one on Bilbo as well. “I am sorry to have made you so angry, Bilbo. I would have liked to tell you about them coming but I did not think that you would have been receptive had I told you about this prior to our departure.”

“I suppose not.” Bilbo admitted. “It is hard enough to travel to Ered Luin and see where Thorin and your sons lived. But to do so with those who were there with me when ... “ he swallowed with some effort as he looked over to his dwarrows, “... when... when...” and then he stopped.

His eyes widened a fraction.

_ Why was his mind not flooding him with those memories? Where were those painful images of Thorin dying on the battlefield, Fíli’s ripped out chest, and Kíli’s dead eyes staring unseeing into the sky? Although he knew that he had not forgotten those memories, they no longer assaulted him ruthlessly. _

“I ... no longer...” And before anyone could react, he let Frodo down to the ground, then ran and threw himself against Ori while dragging the surprised Dwalin into their embrace. Ori started to sniffle, and Dwalin did not growl or resist for once, folding his arms around them with a groan that sounded as if a heavy darkness had been relinquished from his heart.

And suddenly, as if they had been there all along, happy memories unfurled in the hobbit’s mind. He recalled Thorin’s beautiful smile; Fíli and Kíli’s laughter as they clapped his shoulder; Bombur and Bofur arguing over how to best prepare the caught game; Dori fussing over Ori as Nori exaggerated his eye rolls; Gloin lovingly gazing at the insides of his locket. He laughed and cried, and his friends in his arms laughed and cried right along with him.  

Dís offered her hand to Frodo, and together they walked over to the mass of legs and arms, waiting for some of overwrought reconciliation to mellow into something less frenzied before they, too, joined in the embrace.

\---

As they trekked towards Ered Luin, with the fauntlings safely tucked away in the wagon and looked after by Esmeralda, Ori told Bilbo about the many times that members of the company had stopped by to check on him - from afar.

They had been too scared to contact their burglar after Balin and Dwalin had gone to the Shire shortly after his return to Bag End. Bilbo had thought that he had hid successfully from Fundin’s sons, but the truth was that the two dwarven brothers had witnessed the hobbit flee into his smial and heard his panicked gasps behind the locked front door.  And when they returned to the Green Dragon Inn to pass the afternoon before they were to attempt their second visit, that was where they overheard a conversation about mad Bilbo Baggins, his odd behaviours and self-imposed isolation.

Balin and Dwalin returned to Erebor without having spoken to their friend. They had thought it best to inform everyone else in the company that their hobbit needed to be left alone so that he could heal in peace and silence. They were sure that Bilbo would contact them when he was feeling better; sadly, no letter or other communication had ever come from Bag End. So they had kept their distance until now.

“Wait - you are telling me that Mungo knows Bombur?” Bilbo was shocked at the extent to which his dwarven friends had been willing to infiltrate his homeland to stay informed about his life.

“Yes - a few years ago when Bombur stopped for a night in Bree, he befriended a fellow food enthusiast who turned out to be Hobbiton’s bakeshop keeper. It took little effort to convince him to keep their acquaintance hidden from you since Mungo had seen with his own eyes how any mention of Erebor and dwarrows turned you into a shaking mess.”

“But that was ages ago!” Bilbo defended himself. “Someone could have tried and talked some sense into me since.”

“You have no idea how much your friends are terrified to upset you.” Ori smiled his sweet little smile.

Dwalin who sat atop his pony and monitored the other guards as they followed his order to keep watch in front of and behind their wagon, rode closer and added,  “And promise me that ye won’t get mad at Garin when you see him,” 

“Garin? Why would I be mad at Garin?” the hobbit asked, flummoxed.

The tattooed warrior scratched his head with some reticence. “You wouldn’t know from looking at us but the lad’s a cousin of ours, twice removed on our mother’s side. Until recently he had no idea that you were the hobbit on our quest, so don’t go accusing him of being a spy for us or something like that.”

“Well, I’ll be ... why didn’t he tell me!”

“He was going to... he wanted to wait until he could catch you in private and with enough time to address the topic delicately.”

“So is his visit over the holiday a pretense for this conversation?”

“Ach no! Garin’s a decent and honest dwarrow. He really was looking forward to spending time with you two in Hobbiton. And when he found out about the connection, he worked hard to convince Balin and me to let him reveal our family relationship to you.”

“Hm - I will have to hear the words from his own mouth before I can decide how I feel about all this.” Bilbo wouldn’t make any additional remarks about this, so Ori and Dwalin were happy switch topics and catch him up the happenings of the company over the past few years instead.

Erebor had flourished under the rule of King Daín, and his more neutral attitude towards elves in general had been a major boon to the negotiations between dwarrow, men and elves. Their final accord was testament to Daín’s insistence on favour developing strong trade relations over rehashing past transgressions and resentments. 

The new King Under the Mountain had also pushed for many tributes to be paid to those who had reclaimed their mountain: Not only did Daín awarded each of Thorin’s fighting companions high-ranking positions within the new kingdom, he also made good on Thorin’s promise of distributing fair shares of the mountain treasures to each of the company members and the men of Dale, formerly Lake-town. 

Finally, he had decreed on the day of his coronation that a caravan with gold and mined treasures was to be sent to Ered Luin annually to underline his desire to maintain a close relationship with the mountain that housed the exiled and to show support for his cousin’s continued reign.

As Bilbo had suspected, it had been Dís’ decision to remain at her current home and not to return to Erebor. While many dwarrows had moved back to Erebor, a few hundred remained for whom the Eastern mountain did not hold any allure or for whom the memories of the Smaug’s deadly rampage would always remain too harrowing and devastating.

\--- 

Ered Luin was as much a dwarven kingdom as Frodo had imagined and as little as Bilbo had expected.

Bilbo was quite familiar with the massive gates of iron and steel meant to impress and intimidate any approaching visitors. The inside though surprised the hobbit: There was not a single granite column in sight, and the floors and walls were made of the mountain’s natural rock instead of marble or gold. The cavernous city was kept stark and simple, like its queen and contained only five levels: The ground and first level below were the main arteries of the city, which meant that these housed the market, court, gathering rooms, library, kitchens and communal dining halls. The other three levels below consisted mostly of living quarters, interrupted by the occasional stone parkette or water feature. Underneath the lowest level several tunnels led into mining shafts.

To spare Bilbo from another surprise, Dwalin and Ori had told him the reason of their visit to the Blue Mountain. The Ur brothers had decided to move back - they had missed their pre-quest lives and the close proximity to Eriador and decided to pursue their life-long dream of opening a toy shop and selling toys to the the many children of men, hobbits and elves in the neighbouring lands.

Their reunion with Bilbo at the gates was sweet and emotional. 

Bofur’s smile split his face in half, re-igniting the warm and close friendship that the hobbit that relied on during their quest. Bifur had simply nodded and produced a tiny wood carving of a certain fair-haired hobbit holding a tiny hobbit in his arms who in turn held up an even tinier carving of a dwarrow with a piece of an Orcish battle axe stuck in his forehead. Bombur had immediately claimed Bilbo and his companions as guests to his home for their first meal in the mountain, and here it was that Frodo met his first dwarrowlings and Bombur’s wife. 

Dís, who had met the Ur brothers only briefly and for the first time during their recent return, was enjoying the gathering along with the hobbits. Within a week a new routine had evolved in which the queen found herself adopted and followed by all the fauntlings and dwarrowlings. Bilbo and Bofur had jokingly referred to the queen’s little admirers as ‘the company of Dís Babemagnet’. 

\---

The friendship that Dís and Bilbo had begun back in Back End and was built on the emotional foundations of a shared devastating loss deepened into a kinship. Frodo had started to refer to the dwarrowdam as his Aunt Dís, regardless of the countless times his uncle had reprimanded him for his forwardness. Dís had merely laughed and ruffled the hobbitling’s dark curls with fondness, later admitting to Bilbo that she considered both hobbits her closest family. And when she offered to marry Bilbo as Thorin’s proxy, it was only with a twinkle in her eyes and the feeling of pure delight at having caused the hobbit’s most scandalized facial expression.

From then on it was not unusual to see Bilbo and Frodo stay at the royal quarters in Ered Luin for a few months out of each year (usually during the winter months). It was equally not unusual to see Dís wandering around Hobbiton barefeet, her arms linked with Bilbo’s and followed by a group dwarrowdams and dwarrowlings who were guests at Bag End and spoiled with fresh air, sunshine, greenery and as many tasty hobbit meals as a dwarrow could stand.


	9. Epilogue: An Overdue Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may wonder what happened to that ring? Yes, THAT ring.  
> Well, the ring along with Sauron were no match for the cuteness of Frodo and decided to bugger off for this particular story :)

When Frodo reached the age of 50 Gandalf returned to the Shire for a visit. 

In place of a birthday gift, he offered himself to Frodo and his friends as a travel guide to Rivendell and Lothlorien. 

It was in Lothlorien where Frodo finally learned the path to his uncle’s happiness. It was during an evening under the full moon by the waterfall when Queen Galadriel spoke to the hobbit about the Halls of Waiting and the Undying Lands. She revealed the existence of a secret passage that connected the two realms, accessible only by those with the purest of intentions. If a dwarrow’s soul was bound to their One who was not of the dwarven race, this passage would enable the non-dwarrow to enter the Halls of Waiting.

Frodo returned home and shared his new knowledge with his aunt and uncle while they sat in the grass under the big oak tree in front of Bag End.

Dís cried.

His uncle merely looked at him with his pipe in his mouth, calmly producing his long-practised smoke rings and raising his eyebrow while he commented, “Is that so, my dear nephew?”

And that had been that. Or at least that was what Frodo thought when there was no further talk on this topic.

The night before Bilbo and Frodo’s next birthday, during their pre-party feast with fifty of Bilbo and Frodo’s closest friends and family (the actual birthday party on the next day would include most of Hobbiton, a big contingent from Ered Luin and even a few rangers and elves from Rivendell), the hobbit pulled his nephew and Dís into the study.

“Listen, my dearest Frodo and Dís. As you know I am about to reach the age of 90 tomorrow. While 90 is a fine age for a hobbit and usually followed by many more healthy and productive years, I believe that my time here is drawing to an end.”

“Uncle!” - “Bilbo?” His nephew and the dwarven queen’s incredulous expressions spoke volumes.

“Now now, calm down and listen me before you start with your objections. I’m not about to die, and I certainly do not wish to die. But I think that there is not enough left for me here anymore.” He quickly added, “Frodo, you are ready and quite capable to take on the titleship of Baggins of Bag End. And Dís, we both know that your life’s work is to rule the kingdom of Ered Luin until your dying breath which I hope will be for quite a while longer. My heart is full knowing that you two have each other and our dear friends, so that I may be free to pursue what I believe is the path that I was meant to follow.”

Bilbo pulled out Thorin’s journal which Dís had gifted him during their first visit to Ered Luin. “I do not wish to be apart from him any longer. I am grateful that I had the great fortune to create many happy memories with you over the past few decades. However, I feel that the time has come for me to travel to the shores of the Undying Lands so I may find out if Thorin will still have me.”

Frodo stepped up to his uncle and gave him a long hug. He said, “I was hoping you would come to this decision. You have done so much for me and everyone else that all I have left to wish for is your own chance at happiness with the one who has been holding your heart.”

“Oh Bilbo.” Dís wiped away a tear. “Let me accompany you to the Grey Havens.”

Bilbo nodded. “I would like that very much.”

“You must count me within your travel party as well.” sounded another voice, and Gandalf appeared at the doorway, smirking.

“Confounded wizard! Must you always listen in on our conversations?” Bilbo grinned at his old friend despite the accusation. 

“I may have been listening but I wasn’t the one who saw you sneak away earlier.” Gandalf stepped into the office and behind him appeared all the remaining dwarrows from the company along with Garin and Helg.

Bofur shook his head in mock sadness. “You wouldn’t think for a moment that we would let you run away like the first time, would ya?”

If the sight of his friends and his nephew wasn’t enough reason to shed his last (but joyful) tears in the hobbit hole that his parents built, then Bilbo didn’t know what was.

\--- 

Sneaking away from their own birthday party proved to be effortless when a wizard could distract all the party goers with a brilliant night sky spectacle.

Frodo had helped his uncle stash his travel bag under a bush in the corner of the Hill and went there to retrieve it with him while everyone was watching Gandalf’s stupendous firework display. They quietly savoured their last few moments together as they walked to the crossroads leading into Michael Delving where Dís, Balin and Dwalin, Dori, Nori and Ori, Oin and Gloin (and Gimli), Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, Garin and Helg were all waiting for them.

“My dear Frodo. Oh, I must hug you one more time.” Bilbo squeezed his favourite nephew close and mumbled endearments into his ear, until Frodo stepped back to take a long look at his uncle.

“Uncle Bilbo. Thank you for everything. You are my father, mother, teacher and most ardent supporter, and although I cannot stand the thought of not being able to talk and see you anymore, my heart will be lighter knowing where you will be. One day I hope to reunite with you, and I will be sure to bring as much Longbottom Leaf pipe-wood as I can carry.”

“That’s my Frodo!” Bilbo laughed with tears in his eyes. “But we are better to be off while we are in a cheery mood still.” He brought his nephew’s forehead to his for a gentle bump. “Good bye, my boy.”

Fourteen dwarrows, one hobbit and one wizard were not a particularly fast or quiet traveling bunch, so Frodo spent a long time looking on from Bag End until the very last of them disappeared around the bend of the road.

\----

Thorin looked grumpier than he remembered. Luckily, his scowling transformed into a wide smile when he noticed that a familiar hobbit was studying at him. 

Kili and Fili were chuckling, familiar with the effect the hobbit always had on their uncle. To the rest of the Durin ancestors, seeing Thorin with a bright and affectionate expression was rather disturbing. 

Thorin’s nephews rushed over to Bilbo with tears flowing down their happy faces and would not let go after the initial contact. 

“Unhand me you ruffians!” Bilbo pushed and pulled, without any luck. Not until Thorin smacked his nephews’ heads did they release their hobbit.

Bilbo huffed and patted his coat. “Blasted boys! Still without a sense of decorum after so many decades, it shouldn’t surprised me! You’d think Mahal would have drummed some manners into you lot by now.”

“Mahal adores us!” 

“Shut up Kili, or do you want to get us into trouble again?” Fili shushed his brother.

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s eyes were brighter than he remembered although their blue shade still stole his breath away. “Is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me. What about you? Are you still that same incorrigible dwarrow that I fell in love with, or did the afterlife made you wise beyond years?”

Kili and Fili bursted into laughter. “Uncle Thorin, wise? Old maybe, but he is just as ... ”

“Silence, you two.” Thorin unceremoniously grabbed Bilbo’s elbow and dragged him away from his nephews and the other dwarrows into another hallway that led away from the main area. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Just as Bilbo got his question out, Thorin stopped at the end of the hall in front of a door and pulled the hobbit into a close embrace without further ado.

“Thorin - what in Yavanna’s name do you think you are doing!”

“I had to wait forty years for you!” Thorin answered with a mild annoyance. “Do you have any idea how long forty years feels like when there is nothing much to do other than to spend time with family? And how glum I felt since I had no idea whether you would even care to find a way here?”

Bilbo sputtered. “You’re damn right to wonder. You certainly left things between us on Middle Earth as a real mess! If it weren’t for Dís and Frodo and the elves...”

“Who is Frodo? And elves? What on earth do the elves have to do with this?”

“Exactly, you stubborn dwarrow! How do you expect me to piece everything together when you did not even bother to tell me that YOU... HAD ... FEELINGS ... FOR ... ME!” Each of those last words were emphasized with the hobbit’s pointing finger poking the dwarrow’s chest.

Whatever results Bilbo had been hoping to achieve with his angry outburst, being swept up by Thorin’s arms, carried into a room and pulled into his lap was not one of them. Then again, Bilbo realized with a startling clarity that they would have all the time in the world to talk and work through things that had been left unresolved during their quest.

Starting their future together with a cuddle might not be such a bad idea after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If these last two chapter feel a bit rushed or compressed (sorry), that's because they most likely are - I could have easily expanded them into many more chapters - but I do not have the motivation at the moment for this story (perhaps at a later time).
> 
> Also, sorry if you expected some smut. I hope the ending leaves you with enough to make your own :)

**Author's Note:**

>  _Bȃhu Khazȃd - Friend of Dwarves (Khuzdul)_  
>     
> With much thanks to [this post](http://neo-khuzdul-translator.tumblr.com/post/127394850067/hey-can-you-please-translate-dwarf-friend-into) and much reliance on [The Dwarrow Scholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com).
> 
> Food inspirations from  
> \- [Middle-earth Recipes](http://lotrscrapbook.bookloaf.net/other/recipes.html)  
> \- [How to eat like a Hobbit in Seven Steps](https://kitchenoverlord.com/2014/12/18/how-to-eat-like-a-hobbit-in-7-steps-second-breakfast/)  
> \- [The Shire Cookbook: Sample Recipes](http://www.theshirecookbook.com/sample-recipes/>The%20Shire%20Cookbook%20Sample%20Recipes</a>)


End file.
